


Irreversibly and Gravitationally Yours

by Kari_Kurofai



Series: Valedictions Validated [1]
Category: My Engineer (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bohn is soft do not @ me, Consensual Kink, Consensual Somnophilia, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Smut, Intercrural Sex, Language of Flowers, Love Confessions, M/M, Marking, Overstimulation, Possessive Sex, Safeword Use, Safewords, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24052804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kari_Kurofai/pseuds/Kari_Kurofai
Summary: Faced with a litany of diagrams and the vagueness of written instructions, Bohn is highly tempted to ask King for advice again, only deciding against when he realizes the exact question on the tip of his tongue is “How many knuckles deep is the prostate?” That seems like it might be a little too much information, maybe. And he doesn’t want to find himself staring at anyone’s hands but his own once he figures that shit out.So he asks Duen instead. Over lunch. In the canteen at school. Like a normal person.To his credit Duen doesn’t spit his fucking drink everywhere like King did. His cheeks puff out a little bit, very cutely, but he swallows without any resistance and pops the straw out of his mouth with a bland, “Do you time your stupid, horny questions to try and make people choke?”Bohn shrugs, “Maybe.”
Relationships: Bohn/Duen (My Engineer)
Series: Valedictions Validated [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743382
Comments: 45
Kudos: 418
Collections: T/CBL





	Irreversibly and Gravitationally Yours

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE MIND THE TAGS. It gets a little kinky, but I promise it's all consensual. 
> 
> Anyways 
> 
> Bohn made a horrible "top me baby" joke in the middle of the fucking grocery store in episode ten and I haven't stopped thinking about it since. So have 17k of Bohn's Adventures In Bottoming which was the working title of this mess. 
> 
> Special thanks to Hansolace and Hyacinthsoul who put up with me ranting about this fic since Saturday and then periodically killing my own drive by thinking of weirder and weirder My Engineer AUs I could be writing instead. Look, I finished it!

Step one is always to lure Duen in with something innocuous. Bohn figures this trick out pretty quickly, somewhere around him saying, “ _Hey let’s fool around_ ,” and Duen sputtering and jumping off the sofa like it’s been set on fire. So once he has one nice evening turned hilariously awkward under the belt, he learns to ease into it. His current favorite method is, “ _Hey let’s watch a movie_ ,” because by the time the movie is over they’ve barely watched any of it, and for some reason he finds that funny.

It’s easier to draw Duen in this way, to coax him towards him with a hand on his, a trail of fingers up his inner thigh, a tip of his jaw his way until their lips meet. Bohn likes how he always sighs into that first kiss, like he’s been waiting, and the thought that maybe he really has sends a thrill through him so hot and fierce it leaves him breathless. And really step one is all there is to it for him. Bohn is just the trigger, the push to the eventual pull, because once they get started everything else just fades into the background. 

Hell, Bohn’s already forgotten what movie they’re watching by the time Duen’s hands fall to his hips, doesn’t even remember if it was an action or a romance, and he fumbles to the side to mute it so he can savor the breathy sound of the kiss pressed to the hollow of his throat. He slides his fingers up through his partner’s hair at the nape of his neck and curls them, tipping his head back to mould their mouths together. Hot electricity sizzles through his nerves as Duen nips at his lower lip and Bohn breaks away with a shaky inhale. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs in the limited air between them, always careful to ask. He’s not sure what base they’re on, exactly, or even what the bases are now that he thinks about it, but he doesn’t want to push too far too fast.

Duen’s fingers flex on his hips and tug, and Bohn nearly falls right off the sofa as he’s pulled over to straddle his boyfriend’s thighs. Shy eyes blink up at him, a flush rising in Duen’s cheeks as he asks, “Is this okay?”

Uh, yeah? “Anything,” Bohn says readily, and he means it. 

He can see a flash of doubt in Duen’s eyes though, that same old one that’s lingered ever since Bohn had declared that he honestly did not give a flying fuck what they did as long as they did it with each other. He struggles against the urge to roll his eyes, knowing this is an uncertainty that can only be settled with action, and instead tilts a smirk Duen’s way. “Now what?” There’s always some hesitancy here when he passes over the reins, but Bohn almost relishes in it. He’s fascinated by the caution, the careful way Duen has taken to seeing what he likes, how he presses curious fingers and kisses to every inch of him. And as with every time he gets the privilege to do this, he can’t wait to see where it all goes.

“Shirt off,” Duen says almost immediately, and Bohn complies within a second, whipping it across the room. Wandering hands trail up his sides and he shudders, falling forwards to brace himself on the back of the couch. 

“You too,” he says, not quite a plea and not quite a command. But Duen does it anyways. There’s no new territory here, not yet, but Bohn isn’t picky. He’s especially not picky considering he’s finally managed to convince Duen that it’s perfectly appropriate to dress down to t-shirts and boxers in his apartment, so they’re already halfway there. Pants are overrated, anyways. 

It’s astounding really how much he’d managed to luck out in all departments. He’d fallen for a cute smile and laugh and gotten the whole hot package. Bohn runs reverent hands down Duen’s chest as soon as he’s able, skates his fingers over the dip of his sternum and back up again, earning a sharp inhale in response. Deft fingers dig into his hips again, drag him down until he’s sitting rather than kneeling, and Bohn almost loses it as they slip beneath the hem of his boxers with fresh boldness. 

Thumbs press into the bare flesh of his ass and he jerks forward, equal parts startled and deliriously excited. “Okay?” Duen asks against his collarbone, and isn’t that usually Bohn’s question? 

“Yes,” he replies as soon as he has the breath back in him to do so. “Just tell me what you want. Or,” he amends as the fingers glide lower, knead into his skin, “showing me is fine too.”

Duen pauses and Bohn curls his arms around his shoulders, leans into him and presses a kiss to the shell of his ear, the line of his neck as he waits for the reply. If it’s too much they’ll stop, it’s happened before and it’s not like he isn’t perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But then Duen says, “We should probably establish some safewords,” and Bohn’s entire brain fries.

He pulls back, tips Duen’s face up to his so he has to look him in the eye, “Uh, repeat that?” 

“S-safewords,” Duen says again, distracted as Bohn trails the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. “For both of us, so we don’t get carried away in the heat of the moment.”

Oh, okay. Maybe he should have expected that, Bohn thinks mildly. They’ve talked about it before, so it’s not exactly a secret that Duen’s prior experience is exactly zero. If safewords make him more comfortable Bohn doesn’t mind at all. “Alright. Did you have any in mind?”

“I was thinking the basic English Red, Yellow, Green would probably be fine. Does that work?” 

Bohn nods, his attention already drawn back to tracing idle shapes down Duen’s shoulders. 

Duen raises an eyebrow and Bohn acknowledges it in the peripherals of his vision, and then hands are slipping under his boxers again and palming at his ass. Bohn gasps, lurching forward to grasp at the back of the couch once more. “Color?” Duen demands, his teeth scraping Bohn’s neck with each syllable.

 _Holy shit_. “Green,” Bohn says. The hands slide lower, bunch his boxers up around the back of his thighs and then curve around to drag them down the front until he hisses in surprise as Duen pulls his cock free with deft fingers. Now this, this is new. “Hold on, hold on,” Bohn interjects, “Let me just-” he shuffles back, gets his feet under him and stands so he can kick out of his underwear entirely, startled and pleased when Duen does the same. 

New territory exposed, Bohn wastes no time resuming his previous position, letting Duen pull him back onto his lap. He’s so busy looking, admiring the view and shivering into that first, full bare press of their bodies together that he doesn’t register the telltale click of a cap being flicked open until Duen gets a hand in between them and gathers them both against a well lubed palm. Bohn jerks into the touch with a groan, eyes fluttering shut as the motion is repeated a second, a third time. He struggles on his next inhale, forces his eyes open to stare at the sure-minded focus on Duen’s face, and blurts out, “Oh my god have you been on the internet?!”

Duen looks up at him and frowns, his hand stalling (which is the exact opposite of what Bohn wants). “Don’t act like I don’t know how to read,” he says saltily. “I’m perfectly capable of a basic google search.”

“I’m not saying you can’t read,” Bohn retorts. “I’m just surprised you chose to.”

The flush on Duen’s cheeks spreads to the tips of his ears and he averts his eyes. “I wanted to make sure I could make you feel good,” he mutters.

And oh . . . _Oh no_. Bohn cups Duen's head between his hands, kisses him soundly as he fights back against the grin that’s blooming over his face. “Baby, you’re so cute I could die.”

“Well don’t do _that_ ,” Duen says dryly. “And don’t call me baby, either.”

“You did _research_.”

“Bohn-”

“You bought _lube_.”

“Bohn, I swear to-”

“Did you take notes, too?”

He’s abruptly tugged forward by a hand on the small of his back, pushed down by the hips until their chests are flush together, and Duen’s cock slips beneath his spread thighs. Bohn sees fucking _stars_ . It punches a moan out of him, and he barely has time to process it before Duen palms at his ass again and parts his cheeks just enough that the head of his cock is sliding up between them and he’s _gone_.

It’s too sudden, too out of nowhere, and Bohn scrabbles for something to hold onto as he comes with a choked cry, his dick spasming between their bodies. His nails dig into Duen’s upper arms so hard he knows it probably hurts, but his hands lock like a vice, clenching with each pulse that ripples through his body. He slumps forwards after a moment, still shuddering with aftershocks as he buries his face against the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whimpers.

“Are you okay?” Duen’s hand is petting the back of his hair, the other one rubbing soothing circles into the base of his spine, and Bohn has no idea what the hell to even say. He’s at the very least a little bit embarrassed but also impossibly, inexplicably _turned on_. 

His arms wrap around Duen’s shoulders and he shivers as he realizes he can still feel the hard press of his boyfriend’s cock on his ass, dangerously and teasingly close to his hole. This is going to be one of those moments that will probably be hilarious in hindsight, he thinks dizzily, instead of earth shattering. Because for all of his boasting that he’d be okay with anything he’d obviously had his doubts. Apparently he’d had nothing to worry about though, since literally all it took was the barest hint of action in that general direction to flip some sort of switch in him and light up the neon sign that screamed _Holy Shit Please Fuck Me_ with wild abandon. 

“Green,” he whispers against the side of Duen’s neck, and the hand on his back stills.

“What?”

“Green,” Bohn repeats, surer this time. “Keep going.”

It’s not like it’s unnoticable that he’s already half hard again, he’s literally pressed up against the taut line of Duen’s stomach. Green means go, let’s fucking go. 

The first slow upwards roll of Duen’s hips drags a whine out of him, and Bohn clamps a hand over his mouth as soon as it slips out, his eyes widening. The consecutive one doesn’t leave him faring any better, and by the third, the fourth, he’s given up, panting out breathless obscenities on every thrust. He’s pretty sure he’s never made noises like this in his entire life. His entire body feels flushed hot, flame-licked and painfully oversensitive, and he’d be mortified if it wasn’t for the fact that _he loves it_. “Please,” he chokes out against the side of Duen’s neck, a tremble rippling up his spine as the next grind drags tantalizingly close again, pulls another low whine from his lungs. “Plea- _ah, fuck_ , Duen, baby _please_.” For fuck’s sake he doesn’t even know for sure what he’s asking for, only that his entire body is singing for want of it.

Apparently his newfound mouthiness is going over well, because Duen winds his arms under his as a moan staggers out of him. From this close Bohn can feel it when he tips over the edge, every hitched exhale hot against his skin and every coil of muscle as he tenses all around him and against him with a strangled, “ _Oh my god_.” It’s just on this side of a little too much, especially when Bohn feels the hot pulse of honest-to-god cum against his skin in the most intimate of places, and he chokes on an absolutely filthy, needy noise as he shakes apart for the second time in a matter of minutes.

His vision swims almost instantly, black spots dancing in his eyes, and it’s only the fact that Duen has him held so closely that he doesn’t fall right off the couch in a dead faint. He still reels though, collapses a little too listlessly to the side for comfort, and has Duen scrambling to hold him upright. 

“Bohn! Holy shi-”

Bohn drags in a long, shaky inhale, and then another until he can blink his eyes open and not see the entire room spinning. His limbs feel like jello, his grip weak as he attempts to right himself a little and curl further into the concerned circle of Duen’s arms. “I’m alright,” he mumbles once he remembers what the fuck words are. “That was _awesome_.”

“You almost passed out!” Duen snaps, like he’s insane. 

Straightening up, a little steadier now, Bohn raises onto his knees so he can tilt Duen’s head up towards him. “Yeah, I did. And I _liked_ it,” he says as evenly as he can. 

Duen levels him with a disbelieving glower, his eyes flickering across Bohn’s face in search of any sort of tell that speaks to the contrary. “You’re sure . . .”

“Positive,” Bohn confirms without hesitation. “Best sex of my life thus far. Ten out of ten; when can we go again?”

That pulls a snort of a laugh from Duen, and before Bohn can parse out what he’s about to do he pulls him down with a gentle hand to the back of his neck, presses his lips to the hollow of Bohn’s throat, and sucks.

Bohn’s legs almost give out again, his hands flying up to grasp at Duen’s shoulders until he pulls away. One of his rare cheeky smirks is curling the edges of his smile, and he traces over the bloom of a bruise Bohn can actually _feel_ with the nail of his forefinger. “There,” he grins.

Oh, okay. So that’s two new kinks down for the day. The second this thing starts to fade he’s going to ask for another, god damn it. 

~~~***~~~

“Hey, do you have any tips on easing into anal?”

King chokes on his coffee across the table, covering his face as it drips out of his nose, his eyes watering. Distantly Bohn registers the rest of their friends throwing their hands in the air and getting up from their table in the Gear Courtyard. _Mek, Boss, and Tee have left the party_. He doesn’t care, and merely zeroes in on the target, raising his eyebrows as King sputters and tries to get ahold of himself.

“Why _the fuck_ are you asking _me_?!” King coughs. He swipes his arm over his mouth and shoots Bohn a truly rueful glare. 

Bohn just raises his eyebrows higher. “So you don’t know?” He muses, every word tinged with vehement disbelief.

“I don’t,” King deadpans.

"Really? Because I asked the table as a whole and you're the only one who reacted like that." Bohn steeples his hands beneath his chin, smirking as King visibly balks at being caught out. "You're the one who thought I was talking to you directly."

There's really only so much the internet can tell him, and what videos he's tried to look at seem scripted and disingenuous. The blogs and forum posts aren't much help either, and each horror story he reads makes his gut clench in the super not fun way. The best and most helpful tips come from the articles that tackle the topic with a mechanical clinic-ness to it, and while Bohn suspects those are the kind of info dumps Duen likes, he's not really a fan. He wants the deets, the full downlow, the verbal reassurances that this isn't going to fuck up his entire relationship. 

After a moment King sighs and puts his head in his hands with a mumbled, "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"What should I start with?"

King flaps a hand at him, "What the fu- don't ask me that ask your partner that! They should tell you what they're comfortable with and-"

"It's for me," Bohn admits unabashedly. He watches the mild surprise flicker across King's face and reins in a frown as it settles into something softer, more understanding. The tense displeasure his friend had clearly been holding onto since the start of the conversation bleeds out of him, and King sinks down in his seat again to lean across the table a little.

"Oh. Alright, I get it now," King says. "I'd start with some stimulation then. Look up intercrural intercourse - not right in front of me!" He slaps Bohn's phone out of his hands before he can hit search. "Later! But look it up, because you should probably try that out first to see how you handle letting your partner have that level of control." A hand is held up, stopping Bohn from interrupting before he can even form his retort. “Seriously, listen for a second. Some people can’t handle being, well, dominated like that, to put it bluntly. That’s not the only way to do it of course, but if you can’t stand being held down in any facet your options are going to be a lot more limited.”

Bohn leans back on the bench, arching an eyebrow, "I feel like you’re making a dig at my personality."

"I am," King intones without so much as a hint of hesitation. "Anyways, if you like that you can move up to fingers, and then see where it goes from there. _Fuck_ this is like the worst advice I've ever given anyone ever." He runs a hand through his hair, a high flush on his cheeks. "Why are you asking _me_ again?"

"I'd prefer to get the details from someone I know and trust rather than some total internet stranger," Bohn snaps. "Can I ask questions or is that going to get too personal?"

King drags a hand down his face, "Depends on what you ask."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not if you do it right. And for your next question: yes _if you do it right_ ," King cuts him off before he can voice it, looking smug for all of three seconds before he coughs and averts his eyes again. "Can I please go now? This is actual torture."

Bohn rolls his eyes but holds up a fist, “Fine. Let’s never speak of this again.” King bumps their knuckles together obligingly, looking truly pained by the entire experience. “Thank you, though,” Bohn adds awkwardly after a moment. 

“That’s speaking of it,” King intones darkly. “But you’re welcome.”

Twenty minutes later Bohn’s phone buzzes with a series of texts, and he smirks to himself as Duen’s name lights up his screen.

_Don’t send me that shit while I’m in class. My friends always try and read over my shoulder._

_. . . I’ll look into it though._

Something warm, nervous but thrumming with a low, heady excitement stirs in his chest, and he puts his phone back down on the table as he tries to think of literally anything else.

~~~***~~~

Duen has a spare key to Bohn’s apartment, something he forgets about on a regular basis because they so often arrive together. But when he gets home that Wednesday evening after a long afternoon of tests to find Duen already in the midst of cooking up a storm in his kitchen he can’t help the burst of surprised and giddy affection that overtakes him. “What are you doing here?” he asks, throwing his school bag on the ground by the door and struggling out of his shoes so he can skid across the hardwood and wrap his arms around his boyfriend from behind. He hums, pleased beyond words, and buries his face into the crook of Duen’s neck as he bunches up the front of his apron between his fingers.

“Cooking,” Duen says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What does it look like?” Tone aside, he turns his head to press a kiss into Bohn’s hair, and Bohn is pretty sure he’s going to _die_. “I hope curry is okay.” He says then, like Bohn hadn’t been whining about wanting good curry the day before. 

Yep, Bohn is definitely going to die. Or he already has and this is heaven. “Curry is great,” he replies after a contented heartbeat or two of just leaning his weight against Duen’s back, relishing in the sheer privilege of being able to do so. He sighs and rubs his face against the shoulder of Duen’s shirt, earning a soft, startled huff in return, before he pulls away and stretches his arms over his head. “Can I hop in the shower or is it going to be ready soon?”

“Go ahead. You have about twenty minutes or so, and I can just put the burner on low to keep it warm anyways.”

Bohn nods, refusing to comment on the fact that he definitely didn’t know that was a thing you could do, and shuffles away to the bathroom rather than out himself as the world’s worst cook for the dozenth time. By the time he reemerges the whole apartment is veiled in the faint smell of curry, and he smiles to himself as he rifles through his closet for something to wear. It’s only been a few months but already his wardrobe is starting to look like a tornado of weird hit it. Half his shirts now are bizarre graphic tees or gaudy prints he let Duen choose for him, and every now and then he finds something stuffed away in there that doesn’t belong to him at all. He saves stealing those ones for when they’re out and about, like wearing his boyfriend’s clothes can serve as some sort of claim. After a moment he settles on one of the flowered button ups, a truly horrendous clash with his plaid boxers, and smirks as he leaves half the buttons undone. For fun.

Duen is perched on one of the stools by the counter when he returns and looks up from where he’s staring intently at his phone to level him with a side-eye that trails down over Bohn’s collarbones to the undone buttons then abruptly and politely back up again. Bohn bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Curry’s ready,” Duen says, strained, and jerks his chin towards the stove.

“You never answered my question,” Bohn says over dinner awhile later. “I didn’t think we had anything planned today. Not that I’m complaining, of course,” he adds hastily, because he’s not. He is, in fact, deliriously ecstatic over the spontaneity. But he’s also fairly certain they hadn’t made plans today because Duen was supposed to be looking after Daonua. 

“My sister decided to go to spend the night at a friend’s house,” Duen replies. “So I was free.”

Bohn grins, happy enough with the answer to blurt out, “Should we watch a movie, then?”

Duen’s cheeks tint pink, unsurprising by this point considering their track record with movies, and he mumbles out a quick but clear-cut, “Sure,” that sends a little shiver up Bohn’s spine.

They’re good at this game by now, moving through the domestic steps of cleaning up and doing the dishes as if there isn’t something else on their minds. Bohn’s a little more distracted than normal, curiosity won over when he keeps catching Duen checking something on his phone he won’t let him see. He flicks water at him when he’s supposed to be scrubbing the pans out, runs wet fingers up his sides and under his shirt until Duen squawks and swats at him with the towel, and makes a general nuisance of himself until he’s finally shooed off to go pick a movie. They have to keep up the pretense of it, after all. 

Bohn chooses some sort of sword-clashing period drama he’s never heard of or cared to watch and sprawls across the cushions. He frowns as he tosses the remote onto the coffee table, his eyebrows furrowing as it clatters across bare wood rather than the usual mess of textbooks and study packets. Huh. Someone’s been tidying up. 

“What did you choose?” Duen asks like it matters. He sits down and Bohn’s wandering thoughts about the mystery of his clean coffee table snap to attention as he notices Duen’s fingers popping open the top button of his school shirt, and then a second, a third. Bohn sits up. “Oh, I think I’ve seen this one,” Duen says, squinting at the opening credits roll. “The guy dies and gets summoned back to a new body to solve the mystery of the public malignment that lead to his death.”

“Spoilers,” Bohn protests weakly as the last button is undone. And that’s that, apparently, because in the next second Duen has him pressed down against the arm of the couch and is kissing the life out of him.

Pretense be damned today Bohn supposes as he threads his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair with a groan. He doesn’t mind in the least. His hands wander up under the open folds of Duen’s shirt, touch skittering across a ribcage that expands beneath his touch in hitched and heavy inhales. He scrapes his nails up over the jut of his shoulder blades and back down, tracing out lazy patterns on his back as Duen moves to kiss along his jaw, the side of his neck. “You can leave marks,” Bohn murmurs after a moment when teeth scrape over the hollow of his throat where his last one is only just starting to fade, but he’s already starving for more.

He’s rewarded with the collar of his shirt being pushed aside and he gasps, arching up as Duen’s lips settle against the sensitive skin in the dip of his collarbone. “You’re really into that, huh,” Duen whispers as he pulls away just far enough to speak, his breath hot against the freshly bruised spot. His hands have circled around, are drawing paths down Bohn’s spine to the small of his back, and when he doesn’t get a reply he slips one under the hem of his boxers. 

Bohn shudders out a hoarse, “ _Yes_.”

“Hmm,” Duen sits up and begins working the last few buttons of his partner’s shirt open. “Want to tell me why?” He says it almost shyly, peeking at him with half-lidded eyes and tiniest, knowing smile.

Damnit, he’s too cute, Bohn thinks as the words, “I like knowing I’m yours,” tumble out of his mouth before he can really consider the weight of them.

He watches with a flicker of horror as Duen’s eyes widen, his flushed cheeks growing redder and his fingers faltering on the last button of Bohn’s shirt. Bohn slaps his hands over his mouth, mortified, but has them pried away in the next instant as Duen leans down to capture his lips against his in a startlingly fierce kiss. “Of course you are,” he says thickly, and Bohn just _melts_.

Where their previous fumblings had always been rather hurried, hastened by the siren song of their own hormones and the urges to touch and taste and explore as much as they were able to, this one starts slower. Each moment is drawn out, each kiss placed against too-hot skin almost reverent in how it lingers. Bohn’s breathless by the time Duen pushes his shirt from his shoulders, his chest heaving as he levers himself up on his elbows and lifts his hips up to let his boxers be dragged off and tossed aside. His thighs fall open across Duen’s legs, and he registers the scrape of school pants on his bare skin with a frown. “Hey,” he complains, reaching up to shove at the sleeves of his shirt until Duen sits back and laughs, shrugging out of it. Bohn starts on the belt next with single minded intent, barely noticing the hand on the back of his neck, the kiss being trailed over his jaw by his ear until he feels a tongue lave over his earring. His brain fries in an instant and he groans, his hands fumbling as another mark is sucked behind the shell of his ear. “ _Duen-_ ” he chokes, his head spinning as he realizes that people will see that, will _know_ , and he feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest.

Duen settles a hand on his abdomen to nudge at his hip with the other, and Bohn finds himself rolling over without really thinking about it, letting himself be drawn up into his partner’s lap until they’re moulded together back to front. Teeth drag over the knobs of his spine and he hisses as he feels another bloom of blood being drawn to the surface of his skin. It’s highly likely, he realizes with dizzying satisfaction, that he’ll never be able to take his shirt off in front of anyone else ever again. Maybe that was even the plan. He braces his hands against the arm of the sofa for lack of anything else to hold on to, his arms shaking as another mark is left on his right shoulder blade. Duen is pressing up against him, hard enough to feel even through the fabric of his pants, and Bohn whimpers and almost falls forward as he finally, _finally_ grinds against his ass.

“Let’s try it,” Duen murmurs over the base of his neck, and Bohn struggles to figure out what the hell he’s talking for a moment before it hits him.

_Oh._

He nods, probably a little too enthusiastically, but Duen merely chuckles. “Can you kneel in front of the coffee table?” he asks then, and Bohn’s pretty sure his soul leaves his body.

The coffee table? The strangely empty coffee table? _Holy fuck he’s been planning this all night_. He nods again, words having apparently failed him for the time being because _holy shit holy shit_ ** _holy_** **_shit_**. 

He stands on slightly shaky legs, grateful when Duen follows him with his hands on his hips, guides him down to where he wants him on his knees with his elbows on the table. “Okay?” Duen asks as Bohn stares down at the grain of the wood between his forearms, struggling to get his heart rate under control again.

“Yeah,” he manages after a moment. His eyes are drawn up as he hears the slide of a zipper, and he turns his head in time to see Duen kick out his pants and then his boxers in quick succession. He’s never had such a good view before, and he can’t help but smirk as Duen catches him watching and falters, a pretty shade of pink spreading from his cheeks down to his chest. “Nice,” he admires, raising his eyebrows as he settles his gaze pointedly on the flushed, hard line of his cock. _Very nice_.

“Stop that,” Duen chides. He kneels down behind him, takes his jaw with deft fingers and forces him to look away, and heat coils in a shuddering wave low in Bohn’s gut. 

“I can’t look?” Bohn asks cheekily. A thumb slides over his bottom lip and he catches it between his teeth and pulls it into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the digit. 

Duen groans, “You can, but-” Bohn bites down on the thin flesh between his forefinger and thumb. “ _God_ , you don’t have to be such a cretin about it.”

“Who’s gonna stop me?” Bohn asks, releasing the hand and watching it disappear back over his shoulder. It feels like a challenge, and a hot thrill works its way in shivers down his spine as he says it. He registers the click of the cap on the lube this time, accompanied by the insistent press of a hand to the outside of his left thigh, pushing his legs together.

“Me, actually,” Duen breathes lowly against the space between his neck and shoulder, and then the head of a cock is pressing between his thighs and Bohn almost blacks the fuck out. 

He keens, trembling as it works into the tight space below his ass, brushes against the sensitive underside of his balls and drags against him until they’re pressed flush together. Duen works a hand around between him and the table and encircles a tight forefinger and thumb around the base of his dick. He squeezes and Bohn jerks into his grip, gasping as he feels forced back from the brink. “ _Fuck_ ,” he chokes out, and he whines as the hand releases him and fits over his hip instead. “Where did you learn _that_?”

“Just because I don’t send you filthy links during class doesn’t mean I’m not studying up,” Duen hums. He trails his fingers over Bohn’s shoulder and down the line of his arm, and Bohn twists his hand around to wind them together with his own without being asked. “Color?”

“Green,” Bohn breathes. “Like, really gree- _oooohhh_ . . .” Duen rolls his hips, and it’s only the insistent press of his other hand against Bohn’s thigh that keeps him from spreading his legs instinctively. He groans and slumps forwards, leaning his forehead to his free arm against the surface of the table as the motion is repeated. “ _Oh my god_.”

Duen’s breath staggers against the back of his neck but he’s otherwise quiet, and Bohn reads his pleasure in the flex of his fingers against his thigh and between his own, in the rapid thrill of his heartbeat he can feel through his back where their bodies touch without any space in between. The next thrust forces the air out of his lungs in a high, strangled, “ _Hah!_ ” that has him turning his face into the curve of his arm in an attempt to muffle it, but Duen’s hand releases his to catch hold of his chin and pull his head back up again.

“Don’t,” he scolds unevenly, mouthing at one of the bruises he’s already left on the side of Bohn’s neck. “I like it.”

Bohn groans, nipping at the hand clutching his face until it retreats to clasp around his fingers once more. “Fine,” he gasps out, leaning his head against his forearm again. “But no take-backs. I really do- _ah, fuck_ , don’t know if I’ll be able to shut up if you change your- oh, _god_ . . .” A shudder ripples through him, white hot, and he grinds back against Duen’s body with the next slick slide between his thighs. He can feel lube and precum dripping over the underside of his cock and the front of his legs, slipping obscenely down towards the carpet, and he has no idea if it’s his own or not. “ _Fuck_ , Duen, please . . .” He whines, nails scraping against the wood of the table.

“You have to tell me what you want,” Duen encourages gently. He’s picked up the pace, is chasing his own high even as he leaves bruising kisses down the taut bow of Bohn’s spine. 

He’s so close already, but there’s nothing to tip him over, no friction or hot press of skin where he needs it, and Bohn squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head against the curve of his arm. “Not yet I- _ah_ -” He chokes on anything else he was going to say, lets the words be replaced by heady whimper, and clenches Duen’s fingers against the palm of his hand.

“Are you thinking about it?” Duen asks suddenly, his teeth skimming over Bohn’s skin when he speaks.

Bohn blinks his eyes open, struggles in a sharp inhale. “Wh- _ah_ \- what?”

“Me fucking you?”

Well he _wasn’t_ , not in so many words at least, but he certainly is _now_. “Fucking hell, _Duen_ ,” he gasps, and he jerks back into him as his cock twitches, spurting precome as Duen reaches to curl a hand around him. “Don’t- _oh my god._ I’ll come. Baby, _please_ -”

“I want you to,” Duen says hoarsely. “I want you to come thinking about it, about me _inside you._ ”

And he does think about it. He imagines the hot, heavy press _deep deep deep_ because he can feel every centimeter as it slides between his thighs now, knows exactly how he’ll be taken with startling clarity. “F- _fuck_!” he cries, squeezing his thighs together as he finds himself clenching around _nothing_ , and spills all over Duen’s hand. He scrabbles at the surface of the table, shaking apart in harsh pants and choked mewls.

“Color,” Duen demands against his neck as soon as the ringing in his ears pitches low enough to hear him. 

“Green,” Bohn heaves out, slumping over the table. “Finish. I want to feel you finish.” He releases Duen’s hand and folds both of his arms under him, burying his face into them as Duen grips his hips and presses his legs tighter together. 

He’s more conscious this time, in his own head enough to savor it when Duen’s thrusts turn erratic, grow shallow, and he squeezes his legs a little around him to the tune of his own name gasped into the curve of his neck. “Want you inside me,” he murmurs, his heart pounding as he hears Duen’s breath hitch, feels his cock twitch between his legs. A bruising kiss is pressed to his neck and he hisses, reaches back to curl his fingers into his partner’s hair to hold him there. “ _Fuck_ , you have no idea. _I_ had no idea. But I do, I want it _so bad_.” Teeth dig into his flesh and he whines. “ _I need it_ ,” he amends, “need you in me, Duen, _fuck_.”

Duen chokes out another low, heavy utterance of his name, and Bohn shivers as he feels him tense up, hot cum spurting out between his thighs and sliding down over his skin. He goes boneless, slumps further over the table with a string of swears. “Yellow,” he says breathlessly, anticipating the question when a hand glides up the back of his neck through his hair. 

“Yellow?” Duen repeats, the concern palpable in his voice even though Bohn can hear that he’s still struggling for a good, even breath himself, still shaking a little. The sweat on his body feels suddenly too cold, and he nods into the crook of his arm. 

“I don’t, uh, know if I can stand up,” Bohn admits weakly, hiding a rising flush. “I think you broke me.”

“Don’t joke,” Duen scolds, but there’s a tinge of fond amusement laced into his words. 

“I need a doctor,” Bohn mumbles, biting back a smile when this time Duen outright laughs. “Call a medic.”

“You want me to call a _different_ medic?” Duen teases, and Bohn groans. “That’s what I thought.” He stands then, pressing a reassuring kiss to Bohn’s cheek as he does. “Don’t collapse yet, try and stay on your knees or you’ll make a mess of the rug.”

Bohn’s pretty sure the rug is already a mess but decides not to point that out. 

Duen returns a few minutes later with a wet washcloth, and Bohn hisses, oversensitive, as he uses it to clean him up. “Are you staying over?” he mumbles when Duen brushes his bangs aside and presses a palm against his forehead. 

“Of course,” Duen says tartly, like he’s stupid for thinking anything else, and Bohn smothers a smile against the crook of his arm. 

~~~***~~~

Faced with a litany of diagrams and the vagueness of written instructions, Bohn is highly tempted to ask King for advice again, only deciding against when he realizes the exact question on the tip of his tongue is “ _How many knuckles deep is the prostate_?” That seems like it might be a little too much information, maybe. And he doesn’t want to find himself staring at anyone’s hands but his own once he figures that shit out. 

So he asks Duen instead. Over lunch. In the canteen at school. Like a normal person.

To his credit Duen doesn’t spit his fucking drink everywhere like King did. His cheeks puff out a little bit, very cutely, but he swallows without any resistance and pops the straw out of his mouth with a bland, “Do you time your stupid, horny questions to try and make people choke?”

Bohn shrugs, “Maybe.” No confession equals no punishment, after all. 

Duen sighs and leans his chin on the back of a hand. “It’s approximately five centimeters deep and towards the front of your body, so it depends on the size of your fingers- Do _not_ hold your hand up for me to check, Bohn. We’re eating.” 

Sinking back down into his seat Bohn sends him his best pout, but Duen merely turns his head away. It’s really his only method of immunity at this point, so Bohn lets him have it and goes back to picking at his lunch. He stays resolutely quiet until Duen pushes his empty plate aside a while later, and then he holds out his hand again. 

Duen, bless him really, Bohn can’t believe how much he just _gets him_ sometimes, simply takes it obligingly and runs an absent thumb a ways down his index finger. “Right about here, probably.” He says, pulling out his phone with his other hand. He types out something and puts it down again in lieu of lacing their fingers together over the table instead. Bohn’s heart skips a few beats. “Were you going to try it tonight?”

“Ah,” Bohn falters. “Maybe? I haven’t decided yet.”

“Hmm,” Duen tilts his head to the side a little. “You should try it in the shower. The hot water will help relax your muscles and the steam might make breathing easier if you get too anxious.”

“I won't,” Bohn says, only a little testy. And then because Duen has been nothing but helpful, he asks, “Should I be sitting or standing?” 

“Standing to start with, definitely. You’ll tense up if you’re sitting, and the shower isn’t really comfortable enough for that anyways. Your body is naturally more open if you’re standing or laying down. Or if your legs are pulled up,” he adds, and Bohn just about chokes to death on his own spit.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” he coughs, pulling his hand back to scrub it over his face, his cheeks heating. “Thank you, Doctor Duen.”

Duen just raises his eyebrows, looking far too innocent for the devilish streak Bohn knows he has. “You can call me, too, you know,” he says without preamble, and Bohn almost falls off the god damn bench.

“ _What_!?”

“You can-”

“Are you asking me for- for _phone sex_?” Bohn gasps, “Oh my god, who are you and what have you done with my sweet, innocent Duen?” He puts his hand to his heart, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped. For the sake of drama, of course.

Duen’s eyes narrow, pink tinting his cheekbones. “I meant if you need help,” he says evenly. “But nevermind.” He stands, and Bohn almost hurls himself across the table to try and stop him.

“I’m kidding, _I’m kidding_ ,” he laughs. “Come on baby, don’t be like that.”

Duen jerks his arm out of his grip, and Bohn watches, fascinated as his eyes darken. Electricity crackles through his nerves, and he chews on the inside of his lip as it coils lightning hot and low in his gut. “Don’t call me that in public,” Duen whispers, so low and so tight that Bohn’s head spins. “Unless you want me to toss you into the nearest empty classroom and bite you.”

“ _Baby_ ,” Bohn repeats, almost before he even finishes.

He stumbles out of an empty classroom twenty minutes later sporting a new mark on the inner part of his wrist that tingles when he presses a thumb to it.

~~~***~~~

Duen had not so casually left not just one, but two bottles of lube on his coffee table after their last escapade, and Bohn takes them both into the shower with him when he gets home, studying their labels closely under the spray as he lets the steam build up around him. The first one, already partially used, is just a basic water-based lube. The second, Bohn is startled to discover, is _flavored._ Vanilla cream to be exact, and he snorts at the irony. “Vanilla my ass,” he mutters to himself. “Why does it need a flavor any . . . ways . . .”

The mental image springs to life in his mind, and he puts the bottle down in favor of steadying himself against the shelf as all the blood in his body makes a quick southern U-turn. For fuck’s sake he’s barely wrapped his head around the idea of his own fingers in there, let alone someone else’s _tongue._ Or, to be more precise, _Duen’s_ tongue. He groans and fumbles for the bottle again, popping it open and applying a liberal amount to his hand. Baby steps, damnit. Think about that later.

The first press in is weird, but not exactly uncomfortable. Probably should adjust his position though, he thinks, or his arm is gonna cramp up before he gets anywhere good. He spreads his legs a little, bracing a hand to the tile as he tries again. This time he presses in from the front with Duen’s instructions in mind. _Five centimeters, towards the front of the body and_ \- oh.

His breath hitches and his muscles clench around a sharp, tentative first spark of pleasure. _Oh_. Okay, well, that wasn’t nearly as complicated as he feared it was going to be. And it also wasn’t bad, so he supposes that’s a good start. 

The pressure itself is still not great though, he muses as he pulls out and applies more lube, this time getting enough to try for two. It’s just weird, and he wants more than that. This time he presses in with two fingers, hissing with discomfort. It’s not painful, but it’s hard to concentrate on the ripple of heat crooking his touch up into that spot causes when his mind is focused on the awkward clench around his knuckles. He tries again and thunks his head down against the shower wall, struggling to think of something else; of warm hands on his hips and lips sucking fresh bruises into his skin, and he chokes out a moan that has more to do with his yearning than what he’s doing to his ass.

The water feels abruptly too cold despite the heavy cloud of steam, and he pulls out again with a frustrated whine. “Fuck it,” Bohn mutters, rinsing his hand off and grabbing the bottle of lube from the shelf. “Just fucking . . . I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

He turns the shower off and leans out of the bathroom doorway to chuck the lube onto his bed, toweling off as quickly as he can before flopping across the comforter himself. His phone is on the nightstand and he rolls over to grab it as he settles down, his heart hammering in his chest. He pulls up his contacts and hits call before he can change his mind.

“Can you come over?” he blurts out the second the line picks up.

He hears Duen’s breath hitch audibly and smacks himself in the face. “Did you hurt yourself?” Duen gasps in his ear.

“ _No_ ,” Bohn bites out. “I’m not that stupid, geeze. I just . . .” He stops, thinks of the fact that Duen will have to ride a motorcycle to get here, and decides that details are best left unsaid for now. “Please just come over,” he settles on. “I’m fine,” he adds, in case it’s still not obvious. He really doesn’t need a full blown panic-mode boyfriend on his hands for this. “I need you here,” he whispers. It sounds disgustingly clingy, and he cringes as he pulls a pillow over to bury his face into.

“Okay,” Duen replies easily, softly, and Bohn jerks his head back up as his mouth falls open. “Wait for me.”

The line goes dead, and Bohn stares at his phone, at the contact picture of Duen laughing in his kitchen with flour on the tip of his nose, and then throws it to the side so he can scream into his pillow. 

He knows he doesn’t have to wait long, maybe ten or fifteen minutes at most, so he busies himself with trying again. Because fuck it, he has nothing better to do, and he’s already naked and laying in bed with the bottle of lube. Might as well.

The angle is a little better on his back, he decides after awhile, a bit less impersonal with the warmth and weight of his bed beneath him. And when he tilts his head to the side and sucks in a big enough breath he can still smell the faint traces of Duen’s shampoo on the pillows from when he spent the night a few days ago. _That_ helps a lot more than anything else, and the next time he moves his fingers, drags them over that spot and holds them there, he bites back on a whimper. 

“Oh my god _you’re the worst_.”

His eyes snap open and he freezes, his eyes meeting Duen’s where he’s standing in the doorway. He’s breathing hard, like he’d parked and run up here, and before Bohn can even say anything he’s shrugging out of his coat, pulling his shirt over his head with a muttered curse. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” he snaps, but there’s no real heat in the words. Bohn still hasn’t moved, his eyes wide as Duen kicks out of his pants, his underwear. “You ask me to come over and you’re in the middle of-” He practically jumps onto the bed, kneeling between Bohn’s spread legs. “ _Look at you_.”

The words in context should sound harsh, reprimanding, but they come out so breathless and wondrous that they’re anything but. Duen’s eyes are big and impossibly dark, and when he curls his fingers over Bohn’s wrist he licks his lips like he means to _eat him_. Bohn groans and drops his head down into the pillows again, lets his hand be pulled out of himself without protest. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, leaning in when Duen cups the side of his face to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, the end of his nose. He smiles. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t like doing it to myself. It’s fine and all, it doesn’t feel bad. I just . . .” He swallows. “I wanted _you_.” 

And that’s really the only way to say it, isn’t it, to explain the chill of absence he’d found himself so displeased with. It feels good, but it doesn’t measure up to how good he knows it can be, and therein lies the rub. 

His chin is seized, and Bohn has just enough time to wonder if this particular action is going to turn into a full blown kink soon before Duen’s mouth is covering his, his tongue pressing in. Bohn groans into the kiss and has just enough mind to wipe his hand off on the sheets before he surges up, winding his arms over his boyfriend’s shoulders and tugging him in as close as he can possibly get him. “Did you know what I was doing?” he asks between breaths. “Did you know when I called you?” Distantly he registers that this is the first time they’ve done anything like this on the bed, and shivers at the heat that ripples through him at the thought.

“I suspected,” Duen chuckles against his lips. He pulls away and Bohn whines, trying to drag him back in by the shoulders, but he just cocks his head and holds up the bottle he’s found on the comforter. “So what was that again about you wanting me to . . .” He draws off with a wicked flash of teeth, and Bohn almost loses his shit as he gets a hand under his left thigh and hikes his leg up over his waist.

“I’ve created a monster,” Bohn gasps. 

“Says the man who was finger fucking himself when I came in.”

“Yeah while waiting for you to do it for me, you-” He chokes on his retort, because all of a sudden Duen has two slick fingers pressed up against his entrance. “Green!” Bohn says before he can ask. “Please please please- _fuuuuck_.” His back bows as they press in and up with expert ease, and his other leg raises to dig his heel into Duen’s back. Now this, _this_ was what he wanted, what he’d been craving, that white-hot heat of the intimacy of coming undone at someone else’s hand. Bohn heaves in a breath, then another, keenly aware of Duen watching him carefully for his response. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” he assures, “okay? So please . . .” He shivers, bites down on a moan that staggers out of him regardless as Duen repeats the earlier motion. “ _Yes_. Just like that.”

This is it, Bohn decides dizzily, this is cloud nine. Duen leans over him, pushes one of his legs up against his chest, and the angle somehow hits even better, deeper and _fuller_ as he spreads his fingers. He turns his head to bite at the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh and Bohn keens, fisting his hands into the comforter against the urge to ask him to do it again, to leave proof of it. Except that apparently he’s an open book, because Duen just glances at him out of the corners of his eyes for a second, half-lidded and searching, before he does exactly that. 

Bohn wonders if he could convince him to make that particular action a regular occurance, if not a daily one. He thinks of collecting those little marks across his skin, a calendar of possessive kisses and heated nights, and grinds his hips back into Duen’s hand with a needy whine.

Duen’s wrist jerks up into the motion, like he’d been waiting for him to do just that, and his fingers press in deeper, spread wider. “There you go,” he murmurs, leaning over Bohn to steal the choked whisper of his name with a kiss. He says it like a praise, and Bohn brushes that particular thought aside as quick as he can because he does _not_ have the mental capacity for another fetish on top of the half dozen he’s already reeling with at the moment. “Think you can take three?”

Now that’s a good question. Bohn reaches up, digs his fingers into Duen’s shoulders and drags his nails over what he can reach of his back. “Yeah.” He’d promised to let him know if it’s too much, and he will. 

The pressure of a third finger working in punches the last of his breath from his lungs. “Y-yellow! Yellow, slower. Slow down, just-” Bohn gasps, pulls their bodies closer together until he can tuck his face into the curve of Duen’s neck, can lull the erratic beat of his heart with the now familiar smell of his skin and the sound of soft reassurances whispered against the shell of his ear. He sucks in a steadier breath, stretches out across the bed in a long, loose roll of muscles, and hums as Duen trails kisses down the side of his jaw. A cold drip of lube slides down the crease of his ass, and the third finger prods at him again, hesitant. “Green,” he mumbles. “Slowly.”

“Can you let go of me?” Duen asks, and Bohn almost growls at how much he does _not_ want to do that. “I think it’ll be easier if I touch you.”

“You are touching me,” Bohn reminds lowly, tightening his arms around Duen’s shoulders. 

He can almost hear the eye roll when Duen says, “I mean your dick, Bohn. Let me jerk you off.”

Oh. Well okay then.

Still Bohn finds himself releasing his hold with reluctance, drawing it out until Duen sighs not unkindly and pulls back himself. He kisses him in butterfly pecks over his cheek, his neck, and follows the line of his collarbone down to the hollow of his throat where the first hickey he’d left is starting to lighten around the edges, and then dips his head down to renew it. Bohn shudders and his flagging erection starts to swell with fresh purpose. 

Duen’s fingers wrap around him, curl _in him_ , and the world tilts dangerously at the strange, brand new combination of sensations. A thumb glides up the length of him, swirls precum over the head of his cock and back down again. It’s simultaneous with that dreaded third finger slipping in, gliding over his prostate with the other two, and Bohn pants out a clipped, “ _Duen_!” as he clenches down around him. Overall it’s still a lot, verging on being too much again, but Bohn sucks in a steadying breath as Duen presses a kiss to the rise and fall of his sternum. 

“Color?”

“. . . G-green,” Bohn pants. He arcs an arm over his head, fists a hand into the pillows. “Can you try, uh, moving them maybe? I don’t know, I just-” Duen’s fingers pull back, almost all the way out, and Bohn grits his teeth on a hiss of a whine that hitches into a full on moan as Duen cants them back in, deliciously and deliriously slow. “ _Ah_ \- oh god. That’s . . .” He does it again, twists them just right in time with a languid stroke over Bohn’s cock, and his back arches off the bed with a shout. He feels like something is boiling under his skin, every nerve tingling with a low thrum of volcanic heat. Fucking hell, he thinks wildly, maybe the vanilla wasn’t all that ironic after all; because when he cracks open an eye to see Duen staring down at him with rapt, soft attention, meets his eyes on the next artful jerk and roll of his body, he gets tunnel vision.

His hips grind back down against Duen’s hand on the next relaxed inward deep drive of fingers, and again on the one after that. Slow slow _slow_ , full where he’s startled to find himself aching to be filled. Bohn bites down on his bottom lip as his dick twitches in Duen’s grip, so close to the edge that the heat coiling in his gut shudders up through him in ripples and wakes.

“You’re doing so good,” Duen murmurs on the next stroke, the next thrust of his fingers. It’s definitely and unmistakably praise this time, and Bohn’s thighs clench on either side of Duen’s waist. “ _Look at you_.” He says it like a prayer, an echo of that same breathless, disbelieving reverence he’d entered the room with, and that’s it.

Bohn shouts, twists the comforter beneath him between his fingers, and shudders apart. He’s undone, frayed at the seams as Duen presses up against that spot inside him and circles it with every hot spill over the fingers of his other hand. It’s too much, drags his breath out of him in hitched and heavy whimpers until he collapses almost boneless, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut as he comes down from it, his arm shaking when he reaches up to card a reassuring hand through Duen’s hair when he feels the shadow of his breath ghosting over his jaw. “I’m okay,” he mumbles, each syllable staggering out of his lungs. “Give me a sec and I’ll help you out.”

“You don’t have to,” Duen murmurs. He trails a kiss along the underside of his jaw, and Bohn tries not to pout as he realizes why that’s the only way he’s being touched right now. Whatever, his hands are clean(ish), he can do it himself. 

After a moment of just finding his own gravity again, assuring himself that the world has stopped spinning, Bohn sits up with minimal wavering and hooks deft hands around the back of Duen’s thighs. He drags him up his body and pushes at him until he’s kneeling with his knees on either side of his chest, and flashes his best cheshire smirk as he finds himself with a truly fantastic view. Duen on his knees, his legs trembling and his cock hard and flushed tantalizingly within reach. Bohn licks his lips as he watches a bead of precum pool at the tip and slip downwards, a plan forming in his mind. “Feel free to say no, but I’m tired and you should totally just come in my mouth.”

Duen squeaks, an honest to god little startled sound, and Bohn observes with half lidded eyes and divided attention as he leans over to wipe his left hand off on the comforter. Whatever, it's not like he’ll be the one changing it anyways. “What _the fuck_ ,” he gasps, trailing his fingers up the side of Bohn’s neck, pressing one to the bruise behind his ear. “Are you serious?” Bohn pokes his tongue out between his teeth rather than just repeat himself, and delights when Duen strokes a thumb over his bottom lip and ever so gently pulls his mouth open. “You have to let me know if you change your mind,” Duen warns hoarsely. “Two taps to my right leg, okay?” 

It really is a good view, Bohn decides as he watches him curl his hand around himself, fist that pretty cock in quick, efficient strokes. Duen’s thumb is still on his lower lip, tracing out the line of it and keeping it open. Every now and then his hips jerk into his own ministrations and the head of his dick bumps against the jut of Bohn’s chin, leaving slick smears over his skin, and Bohn groans when he does, darts his tongue out over the thumb holding him open. 

“ _Close_ ,” Duen pants out after a minute, and Bohn stares at the way his lips part, the bob of his adam’s apple around a thick exhale, how he bows forwards to thrust into his own hand. His thumb presses Bohn’s lip into the edge of his teeth, and then he’s coming. It’s not an exact science, and Bohn winces as some of it splashes out a little too high, drips down his cheek bone. He gets most of it though, especially after Duen scoots up a little so he can run his tongue over the leaking tip of him, laps up every little overflow until it’s dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Th-that’s _obscene,_ ” Duen chokes out through an aftershock, and Bohn just digs his fingers into his thighs and raises his eyebrows, disgustingly smug.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, dislodging the thumb and chasing the lightly bitter taste to the corners of his mouth. “Good?” he smirks.

“You’re a heathen,” Duen remarks, but there’s no heat in the words. 

“You’re the one that did it.”

“You’re the one that asked for it.”

Bohn concedes the point. And then, because he’s weak and Duen will forgive him for it, he says, “Vanilla, huh?” 

A lube-slick palm is smashed into his cheek and Bohn laughs as he tries to squirm away. “I just think it’s funny!” he chuckles. “There had to be other flavors, right? And you chose _vanilla cream_.”

Duen shoves at him and Bohn rolls over obligingly, burying his face in the pillows to try and stifle his mirth. “I like the taste of vanilla!” Duen snaps, and Bohn perks up as he remembers exactly what he’d considered in the shower. “Don’t look at me like that,” Duen chokes, “with that stupid, needy expression. You _just_ got off.”

“The night is young and so am I,” Bohn says, wiggling his knees up under him and resting his chin on the pillow clutched in his arms. “Also I’ll blow you in the shower if you do it.”

Duen arches an eyebrow, “You’ll have to be able to stay upright to do that.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It might be.”

It was.

~~~***~~~

Bohn stretches out across the mattress on his stomach, sighing as his back pops somewhere halfway down. Every muscle in his body feels unspooled, each too-tight coil now loose and pliant, and he hums as he feels Duen’s fingers trace up the line of his spine in languid strokes like he’s counting each vertebrae. His ass is still cold though, chilled from the careful caress of a damp cloth, and after a moment stolen to reclaim his breath a little more he pounces, bundling Duen up into his arms and rolling them under the half pulled back covers. He’s rewarded with a pleased little huff against his ear, and after some manhandling arranges their bodies together the way he likes it. He hooks a chin over a broad shoulder and presses a hand to the chest in front of him, staring down to observe the steady inhale and exhale against his palm, the thrum of a now familiar heartbeat under his touch. 

Duen tilts his head back, bumps it against Bohn’s and threads their fingers together over his sternum. “I can hear you thinking.”

That’s probably a lie, Bohn muses. Except that he always knows when Duen is thinking by now, too. He can trace out the way his eyebrows furrow in the middle, how his mouth twists just a little, and then tends to pester him until he speaks what’s on his mind. “There’s a long weekend coming up,” he finds himself saying aloud, because fuck it, he’s not going to start being coy about this now. “I was wondering if you wanted to stay over.”

He doesn’t word it as a question on purpose, keeps it vague just in case. They’ve settled well into this by now, he thinks, and he’s pretty pleased with a few weeks of progress under his belt. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s had to pull the Yellow card at all the last few times, which has been one of Duen’s hangups. “ _You try to bite off more than you can chew too quickly_ ,” he’d said when Bohn had pleaded with him to fuck him when he was three fingers in the second time. “ _We’ll get there_.”

The Duen of the present turns a little in his arms, just enough that Bohn has to prop himself up on an elbow to look down at him and meet his eyes. “You sure?”

“You’re here practically every other night anyways,” Bohn reminds. “I think I can put up with you for four days.”

He earns a scoff for that one, and grins when Duen rolls over onto his back and drags his face down for a kiss. “Cheeky,” Duen scolds. “But you should just tell me what you're asking for. I don’t want to go into this unprepared or have you be uncertain.”

Bohn is pretty sure he’s never been so certain of anything in his life, but that might also just be a case of raging hormones. He nuzzles into the next kiss, trades it with a nibble over Duen’s bottom lip. “I want you to fuck me,” he murmurs against the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth, and Duen’s breath hitches over his skin. “And then if that goes over as well as I’m hoping it does, I want you to spend the rest of the weekend fucking me until I have to go back to school on Tuesday with a limp.”

“You have zero filter,” Duen says dryly, a dusting of pink on his cheeks. “Do you ever think about the things you say before you actually say them?”

“Do you?” Bohn counters, raising an eyebrow.

A leg hooks around his hips and he huffs as he’s promptly flipped over onto his back, his hands pinned over his head as Duen curls his fingers over his wrists. “You want to see?” He grins, and Bohn’s eyes widen.

“Uh, see what?”

“See what happens when I consider my words before I say them.”

“Oh! Yes. Do that.”

Duen leans down and noses at his jaw until Bohn tilts his head to the side. He drags his teeth over his earring, the shell of his ear, and then pulls back just far enough to whisper, “I don’t know about a limp, but I’ll fuck you into this mattress so hard and so much you’ll forget every name you’ve ever known that isn’t _mine_.”

Bohn’s eyes roll into his head and he moans as he scrabbles at the back of Duen’s neck until he can drag his head around for a searing kiss. “You are _never_ ,” he punctuates it with another press of their lips together, the dart of a tongue into a waiting mouth, " _ever_ allowed to let anyone else hear you talk like that. _Ever_.”

“Done,” Duen agrees easily, and Bohn’s chest squeezes around a particularly harsh beat of his heart.

~~~***~~~

Bohn stares down at the gorgeous spiral of flowers in his hands. They curl inwards from the colorful paper enfolding them in artful swirls of red and white, carefully arranged until they wind into the center to encircle a cluster of yellow daffodils. Heat prickles at the corners of his eyes and he shakes his head before it can threaten to spill over, and lets a smirk curl into his features instead. “The dowry has been paid,” he says, impressed when his voice doesn’t waver. Duen just blinks, takes the flowers back and mimes chucking them down the hall. “No no no! I’m joking! Don’t!” Bohn yells, laughing as he tries to retrieve them, but Duen just holds the bouquet out of reach. “I love them, I really do!”

“I bring you flowers and you _mock me_ ,” Duen huffs as if this isn’t all old hat for them. Bohn can see the mirth in his eyes though, the gentle crinkle in the corners that gives away how hard he’s trying not to laugh. 

Bohn gets a hand around the base of the bouquet and snatches it back, tripping backwards over the threshold and into the apartment. “You brought me flowers on the night you’re going to put your dick in my ass,” he teases, and then yelps when Duen immediately tries to take them back again. “No! They’re mine now! Back off!”

“Do you even have a vase?” Duen asks, winding his arms around Bohn’s middle and resting his chin on his shoulder which is _hello very distracting_.

“I have a surprising number of vases,” Bohn deadpans, shuffling to the cabinet to retrieve one. “I bought them to keep the roses you were giving me alive for longer.” As soon as he says it he feels his cheeks heat, and he busies himself with cutting the stems and filling the vase with water. He peels the paper and plastic off the bouquet and and sets it aside, careful to hold the entire arrangement together the way it was when he settles it into the glass. His nerves are thrumming in his skin, his heart erratic, and Duen still hasn’t said anything to that embarrassing little confession. He strokes the petal of a daffodil between his forefinger and thumb and leaves the vase on the counter as he steadies himself in slow, even breaths.

“I saw the roses on your shelf that first night I stayed over,” Duen says after awhile. “I couldn’t believe you’d kept them, and yet somehow I was still surprised when you said you liked me.”

“I’m sorry you’re stupid,” Bohn consoles, reaching up to pat the side of Duen’s face. He expects a swat for that one, but is startled when Duen merely turns his head to the side, catches his hand, and presses a kiss to his palm. _Oh_. The arm left around his stomach squeezes tighter, pulls him closer, and he becomes abruptly aware of Duen pressing against his ass already halfway hard. _Oh fuck_. Bohn tears his hand out of his boyfriend’s grip in favor of tangling it into his hair instead, groaning when Duen takes his cue and sinks his teeth into the juncture of his neck to draw out a new mark into his skin. “At least take me to bed first,” he pants, and Duen chuckles against his shoulder.

“I can’t fuck you against the counter?”

Bohn files that thought away for later before it can completely fry his brain. “Bed,” he insists. “Treat me right.”

“Don’t I always?”

They make it to the bedroom in stumbles and starts, and by the time Bohn pulls them down onto the mattress he’s sure his neck must look like he got mauled. _Good_. He relishes in the act of being laid out, of Duen’s weight settling against him and the way he brackets him in between his arms, dragging Bohn’s thighs up to wrap them around his waist like they belong there. Every place where they touch, every mould of their bodies together, sings with warm, lingering promise. It speaks of nights of tangled limbs and lazy mornings tracing spirals on skin well after sunrise. It’s quiet breakfasts for two and noisy dinners for four, spaces carved out in flowers exchanged and adoration accepted. 

There’s a bruise in the hollow of Bohn’s throat that has yet to go away, and contented relief sinks into the depths of him when Duen gets his shirt off and immediately latches his mouth over it. He likes looking at it, pressing a thumb to it when the increasingly rare night spent alone grows too cold. When Duen pulls away, blinks at him through dark, half-lidded eyes, Bohn can’t help but inhale sharply at the possessive curl of his lips. He doesn’t ever say it, never claims him in bold declarations but Bohn loves this anyways. Words are easily twisted, forgotten. The marks on his skin linger, are more glaring and unmistakable. He gasps when Duen ducks back down, presses a kiss to the one he’d just left in the kitchen, and makes it bloom deeper like he means to remind him. _Mine, mine,_ **_mine_**. 

He makes quick work of Bohn’s boxers, has them on the floor before Bohn even registers that he’s lifted his hips to let him take them off, and he groans as fingers dig into his bare ass and drag him bodily lower on the bed. Duen still has his pants on, and one of these days Bohn is going to actually scold him for how single minded he gets, how focused he always seems in taking care of Bohn’s needs before his own. Except that he also loves that so maybe he won’t. He pushes himself up on his elbows instead, shoves at Duen’s chest until he sits back on his heels and lets him straddle his lap while he hooks his fingers into his belt. 

Bohn’s distracted by the logistics of trying to get his boyfriend’s pants off while he’s persistently palming at his ass when he hears the click of the cap of lube, and abandons his efforts in lieu of winding his arms around Duen’s neck as a finger is pressed into the core of him. “Oh _god_.”

This is a new position, not that he’s complaining, and he worries he might be too heavy as he crowds closer to Duen’s body, his breath hitching into steady moans against the side of his neck. “Pants _off_ ,” he growls when a second finger prods at him.

Duen huffs out a laugh but complies, releasing him to get off the bed and kick out of his pants and boxers in quick succession. When he comes back he sits against the headboard, and Bohn can’t scramble up over him fast enough. “Needy,” he chides, as if he isn’t already getting right back to work, isn’t curling two slicked fingers into him with that soft, fascinated expression on his face when Bohn grinds down onto his hand. 

“It’s not like that’s ever been a secret,” Bohn gasps. He hides his face against Duen’s shoulder as he says it though, his arms trembling a little the next time he rolls his hips down. So what if he’s needy? “I’m allowed to be,” he mutters.

Duen hums in agreement, and that sends a thrill down Bohn so fast it makes his toes curl. A hand tangles into the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scratching gently over his skin as the fingers inside him beckon towards his navel and draw a star-studded whine out of his throat. “I like you like this,” Duen confesses quietly. “I like how much you need it, how much you want me.” He pulls his fingers apart, and Bohn shudders at the stretch, heated anticipation licking its first flames in his gut. “You couldn’t even do this yourself,” he reminds, and Bohn groans into his shoulder. “It has to be me and nothing else.”

And it does, it really really does. Nothing else even compares anymore in _any_ capacity. Every bite of food that isn’t prepared by these talented hands tastes blander now, and Bohn was never one for flowers until they were passed to him with embarrassed smiles and shy eyes. His once empty apartment is sunwarmed even when Duen’s absent, filled with freshly washed dishes and carefully packed leftovers, shirts in his closet that don’t belong to him and an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. Even his own body feels disquieted anymore, an instrument set aside until he can be played in artful touches noted in moans plucked out of his lungs by lips bruising his skin. He fears sometimes that he’s fallen too hard too fast, clinging where he isn’t wanted, and then Duen says things like that, confesses that he cherishes how much Bohn needs him, and he falls all over again.

A third finger works inwards and leaves him gasping, his legs shaking where they’re spread and kneeled on either side of Duen’s hips. He trails kisses down Bohn's neck to the jut of his collar bone, nipping at the thin skin there and finding another old bruise to renew. “You do need it, don’t you?” he murmurs, and Bohn tightens his arms around his shoulders. “You can’t wait for it, you’re practically falling apart with how much you want it.” He chases a tremble down Bohn’s spine with the flat of his palm, follows it to its end and pulls him closer until Bohn can’t help but jerk forward and grind against his stomach. “Tell me.” It’s not a request.

He’s had a few weeks now to get used to the sensation, to crave that overwhelming feeling of fullness and find himself relishing in being pressed down onto the bed and claimed in the most intimate of ways. And he’s far from ashamed of that. Duen’s right, he’s downright greedy for it, the need to belong to him all consuming whenever he thinks about it too much. Like now. “Please,” he gasps. “Please please _please_ , I need-” He chokes as those fingers crook inside him, piston deeper. “ _Ah- hah_! Duen, baby, _please_.”

“You have to tell me.”

They’ve played this game before, teased this far, but the knowledge that this time he’ll actually get what he wants when he asks still leaves Bohn reeling. “Please fuck me,” he groans, pressing his face into Duen’s shoulder as he rolls his hips back, grinds down onto the hand that’s suddenly not enough anymore. “I want you to ta- _ah!_ -take me. Want to be yours.”

A hand curves around his hip and Bohn huffs as he’s promptly rolled over onto his back. Duen stares down at him as he pulls out, drinks in the way Bohn groans and clenches down against the sudden emptiness, and then drags his face up for a searing kiss. “You _are_ ,” he insists fiercely, as if words alone can chase away every last trace of Bohn’s fears. “You _are_ mine, of _course_ you are.” He kisses him again, heedless of the gasp that’s almost a sob that Bohn breathes out between them. He's very rarely ever said it so plainly, and while Bohn would have been content forever with action alone it still makes his head spin. He pulls Duen down into him, whispers out choked gratitudes into his shoulder like that will ever be enough to convey how much his world has been wholly and irreversibly changed for the better just by knowing him. “Believe me,” Duen says, pressing kisses to his jaw, the shell of his ear, the corners of his eyes where Bohn is sure he must taste the faint and telling tang of salt. “Believe me and I’ll show you.”

Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times, “ _Yes_ ,” Bohn breathes.

It’s not the best position to start with, Bohn remembers as he watches Duen lean back and grab for the box of condoms he’d placed within reach on the shelves above the bed that morning. He’s read things about how it’s easier to try this the other way around at the beginning, but he’s loathe to bring it up. Especially because he’s pretty sure Duen is well aware of that too. He wants to face him for this, wants the comfort of being held and kisses pressed to his face. He’ll take that over pleasure any day from here until eternity. Besides, he thinks as Deun rolls the condom on and slicks himself up, “You’ll take care of me, right?” 

Duen frowns, like he’s offended, and Bohn can’t help but laugh. “I’m not even going to justify that with an answer,” he mutters. He hikes Bohn’s legs up over his waist again, settles a hand on his hip and doesn’t flinch when Bohn paws at his bicep there for purchase. “Deep breaths, okay?”

“What?” Bohn asks hoarsely. His mind has focused on the fact that there’s a _dick_ pressing against his ass, the head dragging across his hole, and he’s pretty sure he’s just forgotten his own name. A hand touches his cheek, a palm curving gently over his jaw, and he blinks up at warm and exasperatingly fond eyes. 

“Deep breaths,” Duen repeats, “I don’t want you to pass out on me. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

He steadies himself on that thought, on a long inhale and exhale as he feels the first thick press inside. It’s slow, unhurried and so _so_ careful even though the glide is relatively smooth, well prepared, and when Duen’s fully sheathed within him he can’t help but roll his hips, a ragged groan struggling out of his chest. Duen’s panting over him, and Bohn can’t open his eyes enough to see his expression, but he can _feel_ him. He can feel every place they fit together, every centimeter of skin on skin. Duen’s hands are shaking just a little where they’re gripping his waist, a low thrum of energy when he rubs his thumbs in soothing circles over jut of his hips. And when he locks his legs around him a little harder he can feel Duen’s cock twitch _inside_ him. Bohn bites down on his lip to suppress the worst notes of an already too-loud moan. 

“C-color?”

Bohn's eyes snap open at that stutter, and he frames Duen’s face in his hands, taking in the red that flares under his fingers, the way his eyes flutter closed at the touch. He’s heaving in slow, even breaths, but there’s the faintest quiver beneath his skin, and when Bohn rolls his hips down into him a little it draws a strangled sound from his lungs. “ _Baby_ ,” Bohn breathes, mesmerized, “ _look at you_.” It’s an echo, a warm whisper carried through the days and unfurling in heart-clenching blooms behind his ribs. He pulls him down for a kiss, tastes the way he gasps and how it ripples through him and _in him_. He’s never taken Duen apart quite like this, so deeply and instantly, and his blood surges with deep seated, ardent affection. “Is it good?” he can’t help but ask, and tastes the underlying question laden in those words.

Duen gets it though, answers without reservation or hesitation as he leans down, gathers Bohn up in his arms and leaves hot kisses along his jaw. “So good, _you’re_ so good. God, Bohn, so good for me.” He chases a path up his cheek, kisses the corners of his eyes and works his way back down the other side, and it’s only then that Bohn realizes Duen’s merely following tear tracks before they can dry. _Oh_. He doesn’t seem concerned though, doesn’t mention it aloud and reads the reason behind them in the way Bohn’s hands curl over his shoulder blades to draw him ever closer. “I don’t think I’m going to last long,” he confesses weakly when Bohn buries his face against the crook of his neck, pulls him into him with his legs around his hips until he chokes on a breath. “I’m sorry.”

 _Don’t be_ , Bohn thinks fiercely. It’s already so much, an entire galaxy of spinning stars that he never thought he’d have the chance to grasp. Every little movement is overwhelming, coalescing, and at this point Bohn doesn’t even care if he gets off. He just wants this, wants that completion of an old vow made on a park bench that was woven in togetherness over everything else. “Don’t be,” he says aloud this time. “Baby, _don’t be_ . This is perfect. _You’re perfect_.”

They have all weekend to try again, to figure out every intricacy to this instinctive song and dance, and Bohn hopes they have even longer. A lifetime, or two or three if he really dares to dream. They say atoms are made of stardust and distant supernovas, and he likes to think they’ll find themselves fumbling through this in fresh new starts until time comes back around on itself and explodes into a universe all over again.

“Color?” Duen asks again, steadier this time.

“Green.”

In truth, Bohn still wonders why he ever thought he would ever want anything other than this. He thinks of himself, nervous and harried and taking his first steps into fresh waters, and marvels over how much of a fool he’d been. He should have known the second he saw this man, the moment he’d been enthralled with his innocent smiles and shy eyes. Somewhere deep down he must have realized the first time he’d dragged Duen into his kitchen, when he’d confessed that he’d always craved someone who would cook for him.

This isn’t really any different. He’d longed for the sincerity of being cared for in a way he was lacking, and now he has it. 

It’s the fullness that gets him the most, he thinks dizzily when Duen’s hips stutter and his breath hitches. Bohn’s left aching every time he pulls back, drowning when he cants in again. He can’t help but clench down, grind into it, enraptured with the feeling of being pressed into so intimately, taken apart so completely. He arcs an arm overhead to fist a hand into the pillows, delighting in the moan he earns when he repeats the motion, when Duen rocks back into it and into _him_ just a little bit harder, deeper. “G- _ah-_ od, baby,” he pants, “I hope you can go again soon because this is . . .” He draws off in a startled mewl when Duen hikes his hips up higher around his waist, hits just right on his next long, slow thrust. “I don’t know how I’ll ever get enough of this. I can feel how close you are,” the words just spill out, spurned on when Duen groans and his rhythm falters. “You’re so good for me, baby.” He squeezes his thighs a little tighter, whimpers as it brings Duen in closer, deeper, fuller. God, it’s so much. “So good. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“ _Bohn_.”

He’d figured it out awhile ago that this was Duen’s weakness, that where Bohn wanted to be held and touched and caressed, in contrast his boyfriend was most often undone by words alone. And he’s chasing that high now, choking on a swear, his eyes shutting and his fingers digging into Bohn’s hips hard enough to bruise. Bohn wants to burn the image into his mind, but he’s too distracted by the distinct feeling of Duen’s cock twitching, pulsing within him when he comes to do anything other than arch his back and groan. 

He wants to hold him there, trap him inside, and it’s with great reluctance that he lets Duen unwind his legs from his waist and pull out. “We might have to discuss cock warming in the future,” he mutters as Duen leans over the side of the bed to toss the condom, and then he’s promptly tackled into the mattress and manhandled onto his stomach.

“Holy shit _shut up_ ,” Duen hisses, sinking three fingers into him like it’s _nothing_. Bohn keens, jolts back into it and buries his face into the pillows with a muffled curse as Duen reaches around to curl his fingers around him.

It doesn’t take much. He’s already on edge, flushed with fire and overwhelmed in all the best ways. Duen kisses maps down his shoulder blades, follows paths over every knob of his spine, and sucks a mark into the soft small of his back, and then he’s gone. He comes with Duen’s name on his lips, shakes apart in waves until he can’t hold himself up anymore.

“Careful,” Duen murmurs against his back, each syllable hot on his skin. He lowers him down slowly, lets him collapse onto the sheets with gentle hands on his sides. “You okay?”

“Amazing,” Bohn sighs. He hums as Duen presses a kiss to his cheek, stretches out at his side and curls into him until Bohn lifts an arm to throw it over his shoulders and pull him closer. This is his favorite part, the satiated murmurs and contented kisses, and he trades them in teasing pecks over pink cheeks until Duen’s is chuckling into each press of their lips. He has so much to say, a thousand poetic ramblings that could fill up entire libraries, but he lets them linger in his lungs instead. Not yet. Not yet. Instead he tells them in the tangle of their legs, the shapes drawn out over Duen’s back as he buries his face into the crook of his neck. 

~~~***~~~

It’s late afternoon on Saturday when Bohn finds himself looking at the flowers again. Duen is fast asleep in the bedroom, starfished out across the mattress in Bohn’s absence. The takeout app on his phone is getting its best use in months, and Bohn’s trying to decide between two different Western restaurants and whether or not he has to put on pants _and_ underwear to answer the door when his eyes catch on the tulips that are starting to unfurl.

He remembers, quite suddenly, that the last time Duen had brought him a whole bouquet it had held more meaning than he could see, and something warm and eager tugs at his heart. Exiting the food app he opens his web browser instead.

One of the flowers is tiny, a little white cluster between the red of the tulips here and there along the outer coil of the bouquet. It takes him awhile to find it, finally thinking to look it up by the unique six-petaled shape rather than the color, and his heart catches in his throat.

 ** _Arbutus:_** _thee only do I love_

His thumbs fly over the screen.

 ** _Red Tulips:_** _believe me, declaration_

“ _Believe me_ ,” Duen had said on that first night, had whispered in kisses pressed to his skin.

Bohn sits up, tilts the vase towards him to study the next layer of flowers as his heart ratchets in his chest, rabbit-rapid with every breath. The next string of flowers are unmistakably camellia, shifting in reds and whites just like the tulips and arbutus. 

**_Red Camellia:_ ** _you’re a flame in my heart_

 **_White Camellia:_ ** _you’re adorable_

His hand shakes as he runs his fingers across the center of the bouquet, rolls the pad of his thumb over a delicate daffodil petal. It had been the first thing to draw his eye when the flowers had been given to him, and he fixates on them now as he pulls up the meaning on his phone.

 **_Daffodil:_ ** _the sun is always shining when I’m with you, love unequaled_

Bohn pushes away from the counter and stands, phone and lunch both forgotten. The bedroom seems an ocean away all of a sudden, and he makes it there in short strides that still seem to take too long. For awhile he lingers in the open doorway, watches the rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest as he sleeps, and sucks in a long, shuddering breath. The world is tilted, spinning around a sun in the arm of a galaxy, and he’s sure it’s only this gravity, this moment, that keeps him grounded. 

“Duen,” he whispers, and Duen stirs, sits up and rubs the heel of his hand over sleep filled eyes. His hair is a disaster, mussed every which way, and Bohn takes the steps left to the bed in bounds so he can kneel over him on the mattress, hold his face in his hands and mess it up further. Duen huffs a short note of complaint and settles his hands on Bohn’s hips. He drags him closer, and Bohn lets him press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before he tips their foreheads together and chokes out, “Duen, I love you too.”

Duen’s eyes snap open fully, and Bohn watches how every bit of him brightens, the way his eyes curve to match his smile and that pretty pink bloom that starts at his cheeks and tints the tips of his ears. “You looked up the flowers,” he says, all breathless wonder, and Bohn can’t help but kiss him, taste that smile and mould it into his very soul.

“You’re such a _sap_ ,” he scolds wetly. He loves it though, loves this beautiful, bashful boy who gives his heart away in flowers and petals drawn out in bruises on his skin. "I love you _so much_." He has for ages now, so long that he'd already tucked the words away in his heart to wait. Maybe it was selfish that way, to see if Duen would say it first, but the fear of uncaging that feeling so boldly had stilled his tongue. He'd wanted the reassurance, the return, the knowledge that everything he was giving of himself could be gifted back to him with equal ferocity.

Duen steals his breath in another searing kiss, holds him close, and then laughs as he rolls Bohn over onto the mattress beneath him. “I only love you,” he says, punctuating it with a kiss to Bohn’s jaw, another to his neck. “You’re the flame of my heart.” He works his way down, leaves a reverent breath over the mark in the hollow of Bohn’s throat. “You’re adorable.” Raising his eyes he flashes Bohn a smile, one of those ones that spreads across his face and parts his lips. “My love for you is unequaled.” He kisses his chin, his nose, holds his face between his hands, and Bohn surges up to kiss him properly on the last sure and measured notes of, “ _Believe me_.”

And he does, he believes him with every fiber of his being.

~~~***~~~

“Hey, can I make a request?” Bohn asks as he steps out of the shower later that night. Duen glances up and makes eye contact with him through the mirror, his toothbrush still in his mouth. That seems like enough of a yes to continue, so Bohn shrugs. “Feel free to say no because it’s, uh, a bit weird. But I trust you with my life and I would . . . Really _really_ like it if you could fuck me awake tomorrow."

It comes out in much more of a rush than he means it to, and he winces as Duen chokes and has to double over the sink. “If I could _what_!?” Duen coughs, his eyes watering as he rinses his toothbrush and turns to face him.

“You can say no!” Bohn reiterates. He grabs a towel from the rack and shuffles it over his hair before wrapping it around his waist. “I get that it’s like . . . a kink. Or whatever. And I wasn’t going to bring it up except . . .”

“Except?”

Bohn clears his throat, “Except that you love me, and I trust you.”

Duen smacks his hands to his face and drags them down, groaning. “This is how you pull your first ‘you love me’ card? _This_!?”

“I want to wake up with your dick in me.”

“ _Stop_.”

Bohn snaps his mouth shut, and almost immediately Duen has his arms around him, is gathering him against his body before he can even have the chance to feel ashamed. “Don’t make that face,” Duen mutters against his ear. “I’m not saying no or telling you I’m not, um, _interested_.” He’s definitely interested, Bohn thinks gleefully, he can feel that interest pressed up against his thigh. “But I don’t want you to get in over your head just because it looks good in porn or whatever.”

“I _trust_ you,” Bohn reiterates firmly, snaking his arms up under Duen’s and curling his fingers over his shoulders. “Also I really really want to try. I’ll use my safewords, I promise. I’ll be good. Plus,” he adds slyly, “as far as prep goes, it’s not like you weren’t going to at least finger me before bed anyways.”

“Oh my _god_ shut up.”

~~~***~~~

Bohn blinks awake to sweat on his skin, hot breath on his ear, and the sensation of being stretched impossibly full. He groans and fumbles a hand behind him, tangles his fingers in Duen’s hair as his thighs are pulled apart a little further and a slow roll of hips drives _deeper_. 

“Color?” Duen demands, teeth sinking into his neck as he waits for an answer.

“G-gree- _oh fuck_!” Duen rocks into him again, deeper, harder, and Bohn comes without warning, spurting across his stomach with a gasping cry. He hears Duen hiss behind him when he tenses up, but he has no mind to try and stop it, to not bear down on the length inside him over and over and over again as he trembles apart in crashing tides. “Oh god, _oh fuck_ , Duen. I- _hah_ , I-”

“I didn’t even touch you,” Duen breathes against his skin, stunned. “Do you need me to pull out?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Bohn growls, tightening his grip in his boyfriend’s hair. He’s still shaking, still gasping around heaving aftershocks, but he wants _more_. “Just go slow,” he urges. 

This is the first time they’ve done it like this, kept going after Bohn’s spent and done, and he whimpers into every oversensitive press inside him. But he can feel Duen’s hitched sighs over the back of his neck, the way his fingers clench against his hips in time with every thrust, like he can’t get close enough, deep enough, and he relaxes into it as heat spools in his gut anew on the wake of every inward stroke. It’s exactly what he wanted. 

Dawn light is starting to filter in through the curtains and spill across the bed, and Duen hooks his chin over his shoulder to chase stripes of it across Bohn’s skin with his fingers. It lights up every little bruise in golden splashes, and when Bohn breathes in he feels like each inhale is tinted with halcyon hues. “ _Baby_ ,” he purrs when Duen’s pace stutters, his grip on his hip tightening. “You’re so good to me. Look at what you did, you didn’t even have to touch me.”

“Bohn, _don’t_ ,” Duen warns lowly, dragging teeth over an old mark. “I won’t last.”

That’s fine. He’s already on edge again himself, strung too high off the heels of his last orgasm to keep this up. And while he’s not quite sure he can pull that same trick twice, he wants to try. “I know,” he murmurs. “Me too. I bet you could do it again though, right? Find the perfect angle to make me see sta- _ah-hah!_ There you go, perfect. _So good_ , Duen baby. You take such good care of me.”

He lets the minutes drag out, rolls back into every thrust and relishes in every stuttered groan of his name sung like a praise against his neck. When he comes again, Duen’s hand pressing low on his abdomen to trace out every shudder of his muscles, it’s almost too soon. But he’s so closely followed it doesn’t matter, and he gasps as Duen rolls them over to press him down into the mattress, finish himself in three quick, jerking thrusts before he drags Bohn’s hips up and buries himself inside as far as he can go.

There will be a hundred more mornings like this, he vows, a thousand, enough to stretch the bonds of time until every molecule of him is pliant and satiated. He whines when Duen pulls out, voices his complaints in muttered swears against the pillow until he returns and cleans him off, bundles him up against his body like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. “Careful,” he whispers when Duen presses a kiss to his cheek, settles a hand to the hickey marking the small of his back, “or you’ll spoil me.”

That draws a bark of a laugh out, and he frowns a little as Duen shakes against him with genuine mirth. “As if you’re not already spoiled,” he snickers. 

“I can always be spoiled more.”

“I’m sure you can. I’ll work on it.”

Bohn hums in agreement and intertwines their limbs further, binds them together like the first lazy loops of an infinity knot, and finds his gravity in the dual beat of their hearts. 

~~~***~~~

“Why do you always look like you’ve escaped from Dracula’s castle?” Boss snaps when Bohn sits down to lunch, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. If he sees King waving his arms at him, making a cutting motion over his throat, he’s clearly ignoring it. “Don’t those hurt? At the very least you should buy a scarf or something so I don’t have to suffer them. The mental image of Duen being some sort of dom or whatever makes me wanna die.” On his other side Mek is pointedly and studiously staring down at his notes, clearly choosing to be deaf to the horrors of this conversation.

“Some sort of dom?” Bohn echoes, biting his lip to keep from laughing. “What?”

Duen’s tray clatters down next to his as he slides over onto the bench and settles his fingers on Bohn’s thigh. He has his phone in his other hand, attention fixed on some game. “If anything I’m a service top,” he says without inflection.

Bohn snorts, but it’s overshadowed by King throwing his textbook across the courtyard and Boss covering his face with his hands with a yell of, “I brought this on myself! What is _wrong with me_!?” Mek, to his credit, continues to stare at his notes.

Duen looks up and blinks, tilting his head to the side when he sees Bohn shaking with barely contained laughter. “What?”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If y'all don't start feeding me more BohnDuen fics other than my own I'm going to STARVE. Must I do all the work in this house myself? Sheesh.
> 
> Mega congrats to Bohn for playing himself in the first scene by thinking, "the safewords will make Duen more comfortable" and then never noticing that the safewords ARE FOR HIM AND ALWAYS WERE.


End file.
